Glory, Riches, And A Last Chance At Freedom
by GigiDuval
Summary: It's 1787, and the Triwizard Tournament is being held at the Durmstrang Institute of Magic. All three of the champions desperately need the prize money to save their hopeless lives. They're all prepared to fight, but are any of them prepared to win?
1. Chapter 1-Jane

Jane Haversham-Smythe was sitting in the library. Again.

She was researching spells that could bump up her points in charms, her least favorite class (it required too much socialization). It was one of her best subjects, but every subject was Jane's best subject. She had perfect scores in all of them.

"Jane!" It was Madame Pince again. "What are you still doing in here, young lady? Why, you ought to be up at the feast! Professor Gagwilde has a very special announcement to make today," She winked, then frowned and stared at Jane. "And you could do with some fattening up! Do you eat at all, girl? You could walk through a rainstorm without getting wet!"

Jane sighed. It wasn't her fault she was skinnier than a poor man's wallet, she just grew that way. It was the same with her hair, always greasy no matter how much she washed it, and her skin, always pale, no matter how much time she spent out in the sun. Jane adjusted her oval glasses and stood up.

"Yes, I ought to be at the feast I suppose. But please make sure nobody borrows this book. I've already got seven out of the library and this one has quite a lot of useful information on the Fidelius Charm," Jane bid the librarian goodbye and went up to the feast.

Taking a seat at the Ravenclaw table, she watched disappointedly as all the food disappeared just as she sat down.

"Too late, Haversham, sorry!" Nelly Caltwrite sneered from across the table, her face covered in crumbs from the slice of apple pie in her hand. Jane glared at the fifth-year girl and turned her attention to the headmaster, who was just standing up to make his speech.

"Welcome!" he boomed. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" There was a round of hearty applause. "Now, as you all know, this year I am proud to announce that Hogwarts will once again be entering a champion in to the Triwizard Tournament." There were cheers from the Gryffindor table.

"Settle down, settle down. This year the tournament is being hosted at Durmstrang, a…" he cleared his throat. "…_noble_ Northern European school run by the honorable Headmaster Vasil Aleksandrov."

"The rules of the Tournament are the same as usual. The three champions will be chosen by the Goblet of Fire, anyone can enter as long as they feel they are ready, there are three challenges, and the winner's reward is one thousand galleons prize money!" an excited buzz ran around the room.

"One thousand galleons," Jane mumbled to herself. An idea was forming in her mind. _If I won that money, _she thought, _If I won that money I could finally escape. _Images of her family's manor, her parent's greedy stares when the conversation turned to money, and of her little sister, Mary, flashed through her head. Mary was a squib. Her parents were pure-blood, rich, beautiful and stupid, and they hated her sister. If she won that money she could leave and raise her little sister herself, away from the spiteful eyes of her parents.

"So now go back up to your dormitories and have a wonderful term!" Jane jumped. She had totally tuned out, lost in her pitiful fantasies.

_I have to enter, _she decided. _Even a slim chance of freedom is better than no chance at all._


	2. Chapter 2-Marcelle

"And who's that one?"

"Oh, that's Marcelle Alix-"

"Pronounced _Alis, _thank you very much, Gislelle," Aurelie interrupted. The girls giggled.

"Yes, Marcelle _Alix. _She's very, very poor. Her parents _slaved _to earn enough money to send her to Beuxbatons. Or that's what they say, anyway." Giselle continued.

Marcelle was sitting in the window, staring out over the valley. _Stupid girls, _she thought. _They don't know what it's like. _Marcelle knew people whispered about her in the hallways, she knew what they all said.

"Any day now she'll drop out, you watch," Aurelie said again. "She can barely afford new books each year."

Why does everyone get to the new girls before she did? They manage to convince them all to stay away from her within an hour of their arrival. If she could talk to them first, for once, she might actually have a friend.

Marcelle hated it. Being poor. She always stayed at school over the holidays, not because she wanted to, but because she knew her parents couldn't afford to feed her if she showed up on their doorstep for Christmas. She never got presents like the other girls did, she never had the latest hair accessory or shoe style. Her books were all second-hand, and her robes were so old and small that they were practically rags.

She had visited her family once over Easter, and it was terrible. Her mother was so sick she could barely move, but she still got up to work every day. Her father was so tired all the time that he was practically asleep on his feet. They had starved for a week after she'd left, Marcelle knew, to make up for what they'd spent feeding an extra person.

_But that's why you must enter, _Marcelle told herself. She got down from the beautifully carved windowsill and made her way to the crystal stairway. The staircase curled up the wall of the tower, finally leading her to the fourth-years' dormitory, a beautiful powder-blue room with six four-poster double beds against the walls. Marcelle changed, ignoring the girls that shared her room, and pushed the sparkling, translucent curtain out of the way to get in to bed. _If you win you won't have to worry about any of this anymore. Life will be heaven. _

If she had that thousand galleons she'd have friends, a real house, new robes whenever she wanted, her mother wouldn't be sick anymore and her life would be rich. With these comforting thoughts circling her head, Marcelle closed her sharp, dark blue eyes and drifted off to sleep with a final thought. _And I'll do anything to win._


	3. Chapter 3-Pyotr

Pyotr Poliakoff had to enter in the Tournament. And he had to get in. And he had to win. That was all that could undo the last twelve years.

"Hey, Pyotr!" someone shouted. He completely ignored he voice, continuing to eat off of his polished stone plate.

"You okay, buddy? Pyotr! Oy, PYOTR!" It was Radko. Why couldn't that kid just leave him alone?

"PYOTR! PYOTR! PYOT-"

"WHAT?" he shouted back, exasperated.

"Pyotr." He said joyfully, sitting down next to him. "Are you going to enter? It's only the best of the best, as you ought to know by now. Didn't you enter last time too? How old were you? Twelve?"

Pyotr remained silent.

"Do you ever talk?" Radko asked lazily. "Because you seemed pretty loud when you shouted just before," Pyotr glared at him. Radko stared back in to his almost-black eyes innocently.

"What? Was that a very special occasion? Should I mark the rare occurrence of Pyotr Poliakoff's voice being heard with a commemorative speech? Let me begin; Oh, the beauty in words is astou-"

Pyotr got up from the table and walked away. Let him laugh, the idiot. Pyotr's feet carried him automatically to his favorite spot in the fortress, followed by Radko's fading shouts. Why did people have to constantly question him? Was it really that big of a problem if he didn't speak to everyone? They didn't even like him. Why would they want him to talk to them?

When Pyotr arrived at the entrance to the roof, he was a little shocked. He hadn't realized where he had been walking, he had been so swept up in his thoughts. _Thanks to my feet, _he thought gladly, opening the trapdoor that led up there. At the first breeze on his face, his mind relaxed. _Stuff those idiots, _he thought. _They can say whatever they want. _

Careful to stay away from the edge, he made his way across the roof to the weather-formed hole in the tower wall. It was the perfect size for him to sit in, which was saying something since he was around 7 feet tall.

Pyotr loved sitting on the roof. He loved the cool breeze that always blew up here, and he loved the view of the mountains from his little spot in the tower. The one minus of being up here was the height. Pyotr hated heights, mainly because he couldn't stop looking down. He hated rock climbing in the mountains, he hated when they had to sit up on the top of the tallest tower and learn astronomy, and most of all he hated flying. The idea of sitting on a thin bit of wood and zooming through the air, hundreds of meters above dependable, solid ground, was terrifying to Pyotr.

He shivered. However much Pyotr liked the cool breeze, he loved summer and the warmth of the sun. Pyotr rubbed his hands over his dark skin. His arms were already covered with goose pimples. Pyotr missed Greece, despite having only been there once. It was a beautiful summer when he went to Athens. But that wasn't why he would never forget that holiday.

Pyotr sighed and got up. _Don't think about that, _he told himself. He stared up at the mountain. Pyotr could almost see the little log cabin he called home. His father wouldn't be there, he'd be out hunting the magical beasts around in the forest. That was what his father liked doing, ever since-

_No, _he thought. _Stop it. _Pyotr gave up.

"It wasn't my fault," he whispered desperately in to the wind. "It wasn't my fault she died. It isn't my fault you don't love me," he sniffed and wiped his eyes, getting up from where he crouched on the roof. If only his father could see him now! Crying to the wind about something that happened twelve years ago.

"But that's why I have to win," he said to himself. _So he can love you again, _he thought.

It had been twelve years since Pyotr's mother died and his father turned cold. But this tournament could fix that. It could fix everything.


	4. Chapter 4-Leaving Hogwarts

Jane stuffed her copy of _An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration _in to her trunk arduously. The girls that shared her dormitory were bustling about the room all around her, packing this and that for the trip ahead.

"Did you need to pack the _whole _library, Jane?" They giggled mockingly.

Jane sighed. Even if she hadn't been entering in the tournament, leaving Hogwarts would have been difficult. She hated staying in new places, sleeping in a completely new environment, and, frankly, she _didn't_ know if she could survive more than a few days without the Hogwarts library. That was why she packed so many books.

Jane managed to fasten the clasps on her trunk eventually, sitting on the lid and shrinking some (most) of the books to a more acceptable size. She heaved as she dragged the bulging suitcase out of the room and down the stairs, almost breaking the handle. She stopped for a break in the common room, wiping her sweaty hands on her robes, tightening her corset and adjusting her headdress. Jane hated corsets, but everyone wore them, and they _were _part of the school uniform. Thankfully they didn't say how tight they had to be. Jane found it incredibly stupid that one would try to make themselves look skinnier by squeezing their waists when they could just do it with magic.

She climbed out the portrait of the Fat Lady (with extreme difficulty) and followed the crowd down to the entrance hall. Professor Gagwilde was standing in front of the open doorway to the grounds.

"Now! Everyone! Listen here please!" He shouted over the deafening babble of the crowd, failingly trying to capture their attention. "STUDENTS!" Everyone snapped to attention and went silent. "Now, that's better. I know you are all wondering how we are going to transport the entire school halfway across the continent to the Triwizard Tournament. And your answer is waiting outside! I would like you to all proceed quietly and respectfully out of the doors IN AN ORDERLY FASHION!" Everyone had already started walking and the professor stumbled backwards awkwardly out of the way of the flow of students. "I SAID QUIET!"

Jane followed everyone out of the castle, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of their mode of transport. _Dragons? _She thought, a million possibilities running through her head, each as unlikely as the last. _A flying house? The train? A ship? Apparation?_

She calmed as she spotted the Thestral-drawn carriages that they usually took from the train station. Jane herself couldn't see the beasts, but she had read about them and put two and two together.

Madame Pince and several of the other professors were instructing students to their assigned carriages.

"You in that one over there, Jane, Number 23, with Caroline Atwood," Professor Puttock shouted to her over the din.

_Great, _Jane sighed. Caroline was a Gryffindor in the year above her and she was beyond annoying. She was stupid and reckless and had even fewer social skills than Jane. She was filthy rich and _fat, _beyond what a corset could ever fix.

Jane hauled her trunk over to Carriage Number 23 and loaded up her luggage magically. She reluctantly climbed in and waited for her roommate, listening to snippets of conversation outside.

"And the beds fold down from the roof!"

"That's incredible! I wonder how they made it…"

The two first years assigned to the carriage parked next to her continued their animated conversation on the other side of the vehicle. Jane felt a thump as Caroline loaded her luggage in to the compartment in the back.

"Oof!" Caroline said as she climbed apprehensively in to the carriage. She gave Jane a cold smile.

"Good day, Haversham-Smythe," she said icily. "I hope you are well? Listen, there are a few rules we need to discuss during the flight over to Durmstrang. I'm very picky with who I share my sleeping quarters with and given the choice I would not have picked _you. _So we must have a friendly conversation about the requirements concerning the amount of space in here and our luggage and so on… I shall save it for the ride, but do you understand?"

Jane scowled. "I'm looking forward to it," she said sarcastically.

"Excellent! So, with these beds…" she went on, and on, and on, her emotionless voice never fading, even when they heard a sharp whistle and felt the rush of air through the windows as the carriages swooped up in to the air.

"This is going to be a long ride," Jane muttered under her breath, trying to tune out Caroline's voice and focus on the view below them, Hogwarts slowly vanishing in to the distance.


	5. Chapter 5-Marcelle's Arrival

Marcelle shifted uncomfortably in her seat and fixed her ragged headdress. The wind blowing in through the carriage windows was ruffling up everybody's hair and making the entire giant flying carriage as cold as ice. Marcelle could just hear the beating wings of the colossal Abraxan Flying horses outside.

She was sitting in the spot where her bed would be when they arrived, next to two of the other girls in her house, one of them the new one who had asked about her the other day. She was eyeing Marcelle warily, clearly judging her threadbare clothing and worn out shoes. Marcelle glared at her and turned her head the other direction, still scowling. She wished that the Headmistress could find a more convenient way of transport rather than a giant pumpkin-shaped carriage pulled by flying horses. It was squishy and stunk inside, and there were no _facilities_. The girl sitting on the other side of Marcelle was fidgeting nervously as though she needed to _go. _Marcelle was trying to slowly inch her way away without looking too repulsed.

Headmistress Maxime stood up suddenly from her grand seat at the end of the carriage.

"Children," she said elegantly. "We are about to touch down in Northern Europe, at the Durmstrang Institute of Magic. I would like you all to sit down, hold on tight to the handles in the bottom of your seats and brace for impact," Madame Maxime sat down again.

Marcelle grabbed on to the handles and held on for dear life, her knuckles turning white. She was fine with flying through the air, but the landing was the part that really scared her. She had no idea what would happen. _What if we crash in to the ground? What if we bounce up and down? What if we run in to a wall or a tree? What if the whole carriage falls apart? _

The carriage swooped downwards, and Marcelle held her breath, her mind whirring in to an all-out panic.

"Help, help, oh lord save our souls, help me, help me, help!" she whisper-shouted quietly to herself, begging fate to spare her life.

The carriage hit the ground with a bump, and Marcelle let out a tiny, terrified shriek, attracting the judgmental stares of several of her peers. The carriage bounced a few times before coming to a slow stop, right in front of the grand doors of the towering fortress. A seventh-year girl sitting closest to the door got up and opened it for Madame Maxime, who elegantly stepped out on to the grass. Gradually the students followed, forming a crowd behind their headmistress.

Marcelle was one of the last out, being highly frazzled by the landing. She stumbled awkwardly down the baby-blue steps and stood at the back of the group, surveying her surroundings. All the Durmstrang students were lined up in front of their doors, which were at the base of a huge tower. The highly fortified castle was made almost entirely of stone, some of which was crumbling away. She could see the Hogwarts students standing on the other side of them, appearing to have arrived by several smaller carts drawn by invisible horses, or something. Marcelle tuned in as Headmistress Maxime spoke.

"Aleksandrov!" She greeted the Headmaster of Durmstrang. "It is so good to see you after all this time. I hope you are well? The students all behaving accordingly? Not teaching them too much dark magic, are you? The Tournament will be awfully unfair if you have." She said very quickly with a strong French accent.

"Madame," his voice was as cold as his ice blue eyes. "I am well, thank you. Now, I invite _all _of you," he said, indicating the group of Hogwarts students, whose Headmaster had remained oddly quiet and was staring up at the fortress with distaste, "Inside."


	6. Chapter 6-The Feast

Pyotr was shivering, standing in the cold Northern air outside the grand front doors of his school. He had watched anxiously as the Hogwarts stagecoaches landed on the grass to his right, and the gigantic blue Beuxbatons carriage bounced to a stop to his left. The three awkward groups of students stood freezing outside the castle, while their Headmasters greeted each other.

"Aleksandrov!" The Beuxbatons Headmistress, a petite but elegant olive-skinned woman said to the Headmaster. "It is so good to see you after all this time. I hope you are well? The students all behaving accordingly? Not teaching them too much dark magic, are you? The Tournament will be awfully unfair if you have." She said in an almost indistinguishable French accent, speaking lightning fast. The Hogwarts headmaster hadn't said anything yet, he was examining the school and its grounds with apparent mild disgust. _Hogwarts must be really spectacular,_ Pyotr thought, _If he doesn't like the Durmstrang fortress_. The turrets towered in to the sky piercing the clouds, and apart from the slightly crumbling walls, the building was magnificent.

Headmaster Aleksandrov smiled. "Madame," he nodded at her. "I am well, thank you. Now, I invite all of you," he said, indicating the group of Hogwarts students whose teeth you could practically hear chattering, "Inside."

The wave of students flowed inside the huge oak doors, rushing to get out of the cold and in to the Dining Hall full of warm food. All of the students sat according to their age at Durmstrang, but extra tables had been conjured up for the new students, so they could all sit together. Pyotr sat in his usual spot in the back corner of the hall with all the other seventh years. He was surveying the new students, sizing up those he thought likely to enter in the Tournament and therefore potential opponents.

He saw a few rowdy older boys wearing red and gold ties arguing loudly and physically at the end of a table, a few Beaxbatons girls with ridiculous headdresses talking animatedly about _something, _a very fat Hogwarts student eating a slice of pie like a _pig, _and a few students sitting alone, given a wide berth by all the others. One was a nerdy looking dark-haired Hogwarts girl who had to be about 16, with horrible oval glasses, another a very beautiful younger girl from Beuxbatons wearing threadbare robes that looked like rags, and a Hogwarts boy wearing green lined robes with thin scars running down his face. None of them looked likely to enter the Triwizard Tournament, except for the boy with the scars. Pyotr flinched. _He would need the money._

He spotted some of the Hogwarts students eyeing the stone cutlery and plates apprehensively. Pyotr understood why. He had been to Hogwarts for the last Triwizard Tournament, and their kitchenware was made of gold, inset with precious stones. He knew several of the older boys had stolen a goblet or two.

"Students! From Durmstrang, Hogwarts and Beuxbatons alike!" Headmaster Aleksandrov shouted, commanding everyone's attention. "The Triwizard Tournament is upon us! So now let me answer your burning questions. I know you are all wondering how one might choose the three champions. For that purpose, there was developed a legendary object in the late 1200s, known as the Goblet of Fire. This Goblet shall be placed in the entrance hall, and everyone wishing to enter should write their name and school on a piece of parchment and place it in to the flame. The enchantments will ensure that it is not burnt." There was a hum of excited chatter. "Now, our kind servants shall bring in our food, and you can all do what you have so been longing, and eat."

Pyotr smiled at the look of surprise on the international students faces as the Imps waddled in, holding plates of food above their heads. They had been bound to serve the ancient founder of Durmstrang, Nerida Vulchanova. The Imps placed a meal in front of each student, and those who were kind enough to say thank you were only met with grumbles as the sly little creatures went off to do their cleaning duties around the fortress. Pyotr grabbed his fork and began to eat, still keeping an eye on the visitors. He was definitely going to put his name in the Goblet, he had already decided, and the news that it was a cup full of flames that would be deciding his fate was not much of a shock to Pyotr or any of the other children his age, because they had all seen the Triwizard Tournament before.

As he ate he thought about what challenges the champions might need to face. Slaying a dragon? Navigating a maze? Rescuing something from…underwater? A fire? Being chained and surrounded? He had no idea. Pyotr continued to ignore the people trying to get him to speak to them, and that kid Radko again, shouting his name.

He kept an eye on the nerdy girl he had spotted before. She just looked so lonely, and in truth he found her quite attractive, apart from the glasses. Pyotr made a plan. Tonight, he would put his name in the Goblet. When no one could see. And when his name got picked out, the others would regret every time they teased him or tried to provoke him. And his father might love him again. Maybe.


	7. Chapter 7-In The Dead Of Night

Jane was lying on her side in the fold down bed in her carriage, waiting for the comforting sound of Caroline's deep snores, indicating she had dropped of to sleep. When she heard Caroline breathing even out and she begun to snuffle, Jane gently and quietly slid out of bed, already dressed in dark, warm clothes, and no corset. She fingered the piece of parchment in her pocket, rereading the words she had written earlier. _Jane Haversham-Smythe, Hogwarts. _It said. The ink was already fading from how many times she'd nervously run her fingers over the writing, and the S was smudged.

She crept out of the carriage, careful not to wake Caroline next to her, and slowly pushed open the door, flinching as it creaked. Holding her breath, she heaved a sigh of relief as she heard her roommate's gentle snoring. Jane jumped out of the carriage, and slowly slunk towards the turret that was the entrance to the school, ducking under cart windows and extinguishing her wand whenever she heard someone shifting in their bed.

After what seemed like and eternity of tiptoeing to Jane, she finally reached the giant oak front doors of the Durmstrang fortress.

"_Alohomora!" _She whispered, and the door opened slowly with an agonizingly long creak. Looking around to make sure nobody noticed, Jane slipped inside the huge round entrance hall. In the middle was the Goblet of Fire, its bright blue flames burning innocently, casting ominous shadows around the dark room. Jane silently walked to the Goblet, and reached up to put her name in, when she heard footsteps.

Turning quickly and pointing her wand in to the shadows, she listened warily for the sound again. Hearing nothing, she turned and very slowly put her name in to the Goblet.

She heard footsteps again, clicking across the cold marble floor.

"Who's there?" she said, panicked. A boy stepped out of the shadows, wearing Durmstrang robes and holding a piece of parchment. Jane relaxed but didn't lower her wand.

Pyotr was surprised to see the nerdy girl he'd noticed at dinner entering her name. He wondered why she wanted to enter. _Does she need the money? Is it just for fun?_

Jane laughed nervously. "You scared me,"

Pyotr just nodded in greeting and walked calmly past to put his name in the goblet.

"Why are you entering?" he asked her, with his slightly Russian accent.

Jane wondered if she should answer, but in the end decided to tell the truth.

"My sister…my sister's a squib," she muttered nervously. "My parents are really cruel to her for it, and I need the money to escape and raise her myself, away from them. What about you?"

"Personal reasons," Pyotr answered bluntly. Jane nodded in understanding. "Okay."

He was surprised. The girl did have an honorable reason for entering. He might actually have some sympathy for her when she didn't get picked.

"Well, nice meeting you," Jane casually walked towards the doors.

"Wait!" Pyotr shouted quietly after her. "Please don't tell anyone I entered,"

Jane looked at him strangely for a second, then agreed. "Alright. But you can't tell anyone you saw me put my name in either,"

Pyotr nodded. "Goodbye."

They both exited the hall from opposite ends. Jane crept back to her carriage, changed clothes silently and snuck back in to bed. She wondered whether that guy, whoever he was, would keep his promise and not tell anyone she entered in the Tournament. She knew she would stay silent about him. Jane didn't break promises. She was slightly nervous for if they both got chosen as champions though.

_He was ginormous!_ She thought. _He must have been around seven feet! He would excel at any physical challenge. And he seemed so unfeeling too, I bet he could curse anyone without thinking twice_. Jane knew that no matter how much knowledge she had stored up, she wouldn't be able to beat anyone at some kind of race, or fighting someone or something without magic.

_In fact, if I wasn't entered my money would be on him._ And she didn't even know his name. How sad. She wondered why he was entering, he had refused to say. She could understand if he didn't want to though, they had only just met, and she was a total stranger to him.

Jane yawned, exhausted from the flight over and her little nighttime stroll. She fell in to a gentle slumber, lulled to sleep by the sound of Caroline's even snores, with millions of questions still circling around her head.


	8. Chapter 8- A Slight Misunderstanding

Marcelle woke with a start as Madame Maxime shouted to get her student's attention.

"Wake up! It is morning, wake up! Your beds will be transfigured back in to chairs with you still lying in them if you don't all get up right now!"

Marcelle jumped out of bed and begun to change in to her school robes, casting a disillusionment charm on herself, as everyone did in these close quarters. She fastened her corset as tight as it would go, which was still considerably loose as it had belonged to her mother and was very old. Marcelle appreciated beauty, and had many eccentric beauty routines, using crafty spells she had learnt and homemade remedies.

When she was dressed, she removed the charm and moved out of the carriage for breakfast in the castle with everyone else. She sat down where she had the day before, again nobody sitting next to her. Marcelle was repulsed by the tiny creatures that served them food, she had learnt about Imps and knew their horrid ways.

While she ate Marcelle looked around, examining the Durmstrang and Hogwarts students. She had not had much experience with foreigners, Beuxbatons only accepting French students and not travelling at all when she was younger because of her family's poverty. One older Durmstrang boy that looked very, very tall (but it was hard to tell because he was sitting down) kept looking over to her and at many of the other guests. He seemed particularly interested in one Hogwarts girl with ghostly pale skin and really horrible glasses. She was sitting alone too. The boy seemed to be trying to ignore many people younger than him that were calling his name in loud voices. Petya, was it? Or Prokhor?

After they had eaten, those horrid little goblins came back and collected their dirty plates, and the headmaster of Durmstrang gave a speech. _Aleksandrov, I think Madame Maxime called him,_ she thought. His words were welcoming and sounded like he was trying to appear jolly, but his eyes were cold. Marcelle could barely understand him, as she wasn't fluent in English, which he spoke, and he had a very strong accent.

When he had finished speaking, Marcelle left the room with everyone else and went in to the entrance hall. Producing the piece of parchment she had prepared earlier from her pocket, she surprised all the Beuxbatons girls by walking straight up to the Goblet of Fire, which was being given a wide berth by all the other students, and putting her name in. As she walked calmly away she heard a murmur of excited whispering, all the girls her age sharing the new gossip with everyone that had still been in the hall.

Several more students walked up and entered their names, a couple Hogwarts boys with red robes being cheered on by their peers. Pyotr was surprised again that the other girl with the ragged clothes he had seen at dinner yesterday had entered in the Tournament. _If she gets picked, _he thought, _she won't last five seconds, she's so young. _This was someone he could really have sympathy for. She was poor and fragile, and desperately needed the money, but there was no way she could win without serious training.

What Headmaster Aleksandrov had said in his speech was that the champions would be picked in exactly a week, so everyone who wanted to enter should put their name in before then. Pyotr was almost _excited, _but he was also deadly nervous. Of course, he hadn't written to his father to tell him, he was smart enough to know that he wouldn't appreciate being let down. But Pyotr was fairly confident that his opponents _wouldn't _be that of a nerdy girl with bad glasses and a poverty-ridden fourth year.

As Marcelle headed back to the carriage, she heard several people whispering about the Headmaster's speech. She became more and more anxious, convinced that he had said something important, that of course she hadn't heard. But there was no way she would ask anyone, and even if she did nobody would tell her. Marcelle didn't have any friends. It didn't matter. If she got picked she would know, and if she didn't she would also know. Trying to cam herself down, she sat down on her bed and started thickening her hair with a useful charm she learnt in a class once. Beauty was always calming to Marcelle.

Ignoring the other student's stares, she continued with many of her other beauty routines, all the time repeating comforting words to herself. At the end of an hour she was almost certain of three facts. One, she looked amazing, apart from her frayed robes, which she couldn't fix no matter what charms she used. Two, she _would_ get picked as a champion in the Tournament. And three, she would win.


	9. Chapter 9-The Other Champions

Pyotr had been waiting for this moment all week. Finally, it was time for the feast and the announcement of the Triwizard Champions. He had been keeping track of everyone who entered their name in the Goblet, sizing up all possible opponents and evening out all of the pros and cons.

He walked nervously in to the entrance hall, fidgeting with nerves. Nobody knew he had entered, that girl had kept her promise. He hoped the champions would be announced before they ate, so that he didn't throw up his food.

Pyotr sighed. The Imps were trundling in, plates of mouth-watering food help above their heads. Reluctantly, he forced the food down his throat, barely paying attention to what he was eating. The energy in the room was hyped, those who had entered seemed to be trying to override their nerves by acting crazy to entertain others. The nerdy girl Pyotr had met was sitting in her usual spot, even more pale than usual, ignoring everybody and her food. She seemed terrified.

The feast dragged by like slow honey, and after an infinity the Headmaster finally stood up and ordered one of the Imps to bring the Goblet from the entrance hall. Everybody went deadly silent. The Goblet of Fire was placed on a podium in front of the Headmaster.

"I would like to commemorate everybody who has had the courage to enter your names in this Goblet. Know that, regardless of how many slips of parchment went in, only three can come out, and you should not be disappointed if it is not your name that is called. The flames in the Goblet will turn bright red when the time has come, and the winner's slip of parchment will fly out. I would like to ask all of you to remain silent. And now, we wait."

They were waiting barely a minute, before the fire in the goblet turned bright red and a tongue of flame shot up in to the air. Those sitting closest could see the piece of parchment on the end. Headmaster Aleksandrov reached out and grabbed the parchment, and it seemed like everyone in the hall held their breath.

"The Hogwarts champion," He announced. "Is Jane Haversham-Smythe." Pyotr's mouth fell open in shock as he saw the nerdy girl stand up from her table nervously.

"Please come up here, Jane, and proceed in to the chamber behind me."

Pyotr studied the other Hogwarts students. A few were looking very let-down, and were being comforted by their friends, a few looked angry, and quite a lot were still gaping in shock. Pyotr could see not a single happy face in their cohort.

The Goblet turned red again, and the Headmaster grabbed the parchment.

"The Beuxbatons champion," Pyotr could see all of the Beuxbatons students glancing around uneasily, "Is Marcelle Alix." Nobody stood up.

"Marcelle Alix?" he repeated.

A petite girl stood up from the Beuxbatons table. It was the one Pyotr saw enter her name the day after the feast, with the shabby robes and scuffed-up shoes. The Beuxbatons girls all started muttering unhappily. Pyotr barely had time to worry about who would be picked from Durmstrang before the flames turned scarlet once more.

"And finally," he boomed in to the silent hall, "The Durmstrang champion," Pyotr was clenching his fists so hard they might break, "Is Pyotr Poliakoff."

He couldn't believe it. His name had been picked! He stood up and strode to the front of the hall, all of the Durmstrang students staring after him in shock, including Radko. _That'll show him, _he thought.

As he walked past, the Headmaster nodded, and indicated the door to the chamber behind him. Pyotr nodded back and proceeded in to the other room.


	10. Chapter 10- A Rational Motive

Jane was sitting in a rather stiff wooden chair, in the chamber off the Dining Hall. Her skin was sickly white, and she was trembling with nerves. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose with the cold sweat that was coating her body. However, she was determined. This was just the first step, like the first step in a difficult potion. She reminded herself why she was doing this, thinking of her sister. Jane closed her eyes.

She was back in the playroom with her sister, before she left to go to school. The windows were open, and golden sunlight was streaming in, giving the room a dreamlike quality. Jane was imagining what house she was going to be in when she got to school. She had spent every walking hour dreaming about Hogwarts, and telling her five-year-old sister about how wonderful it was there. The game they were playing was the 'Sorting Hat Game', where one person would be the student, and the other the disembodied voice of the sorting hat. Today, Jane was being sorted.

"You are very kind," Mary said, in her high-pitched little girl voice. "Maybe you should be a Hufflepuff."

"No!" Jane said, playfully angry. "Ravenclaw! You said Ravenclaw!"

"Shush, I'm not done yet." Mary giggled. "You are also very cunning and mean, I see, maybe Slytherin,"

"No I'm not!" Jane answered indignantly.

"Didn't you steal one of your sister's wooden eggs the other day? Hmm?" She said, trying to sound like their tutor, Madame Princelar. They both giggled.

"I _told _you, it wasn't me!" Jane blushed guiltily, but Mary ignored her.

"No, I think you're a Ravenclaw," She said finally.

"YES! Jane yelled, the hat slipping off her head as she jumped out of her chair.

"You're too nerdy to be anything else!" Mary exclaimed, and both girls collapsed giggling.

"Girls!" their mother strode in the room, wearing a ridiculously tight corset and a pink dress. "What are you doing?" She said, aghast as she spotted the mess. Both girls got up and stared at the floor, their mother surveyed their guilty faces, both so different, one pale as a sheet, with dark, straight hair, the other a healthy olive, with beautiful wavy locks. She was so disappointed with how both of her daughters had turned out.

"Mary, you know you are not to play any games or other silly things relating to magic. You know you will never have magic or be magic, so you ought not to interact with it. Jane, you know better than to encourage your disappointing little sister to play with things that are above her. Mary, get out and go and clean around the house, the maid will instruct you, maybe do the basement since you belong below all of us." She watched as Mary walked out of the room, tears spilling out of her sky-blue eyes.

"Jane, I want to talk to you." Jane scowled at her mother as she kneeled down to Jane's height. "Your sister is a squib. You know she is below you, and all of us, even the maid. Her blood is dirty, and she is useless to the world like all of the other stupid muggles."

"No!" Jane protested, tears filling her eyes.

"Jane," her mother said sternly, her cold blue eyes meeting Jane's. "You know it's true. I want you to stop playing or even talking to your sister. You father and I have decided that you will eat separately, so that you can have the least amount of contact possible. We don't want her to influence you and make your magic less than satisfactory. Now, go to your room, and if you see your sister on the way there, ignore her."

Jane sobbed, and pushed her mother away, making her stumble in the short heels she was wearing. Ignoring her shouts, she ran to her room and slammed the door, knowing this was not fair and there was nothing she could do.

The flashback faded as the second champion entered the room, and Jane quickly opened her eyes to see a small, very beautiful girl from Beuxbatons with very old robes and tattered shoes. She couldn't have been more than fourteen. They nodded at each other, and Jane proceeded to curl up on her chair and try to calm herself down. The Beuxbatons champion was leaning against the cold brick wall, looking shellshocked.

Finally, the boy Jane had met putting his name in the Goblet walked in to the room, with an air of supreme confidence. Jane managed to give him a small, weak smile, which he returned.

The three heads of the schools walked in to the room next, led by Professor Aleksandrov, who addressed the champions.

"Congratulations, you three, for being chosen as champions in the Triwizard Tournament. For those who did not hear, this is Jane Haversham Smythe, of Hogwarts, Marcelle Alix of Beuxbatons, and finally, Pyotr Poliakoff of Durmstrang. I trust you know that you can not pull out of the Tournament now that you have been selected as champions, you must compete until the end," All of the champions nodded with varying degrees of nervousness.

"The first task will take place on November the 23rd, and you will be given instruction prior to the event as where to go and when. You will not be aware of what the task consists of, in order to test your quick wits in the face of danger. All three of your Headmasters, and headmistress," he said, acknowledging Madame Maxime. "Will be on the judging panel and will give you a score out of 100 for your performance in each of the tasks.

"As you know, the winner's reward is 1000 galleons and immeasurable bragging rights. You may now all go back to your sleeping quarters, where I am sure your friends and housemates will be waiting to celebrate. Good luck, and goodnight." He said, with an awfully dull learned-by-heart tone.

Jane shakily stood up and left the room with the other champions, her Headmaster bowing his head at her. Pyotr nodded goodnight to her on the way out, and she waved back, trotting exhaustedly back to her carriage. Caroline was waiting for her with a smug sneer on her face, but Jane simply ignored her taunts as she changed and collapsed in to bed, exhausted.


	11. Chapter 11-Regrets

Marcelle had thankfully overheard some of the girls in her year talking about the champions being picked at the feast, and so had time to mentally prepare herself and to work on her English skills. Still, she had been so shocked when the Headmaster Aleksandrov had read out her name that she had not registered it at first.

"The Beuxbatons champion," he had said, Marcelle hanging on to his every syllable. "Is Marcelle Alix."

She had frozen, shock paralyzing her body.

"Marcelle Alix?"

Finally she stood up, shaking, and made her way in to the chamber off the hall, trying to ignore the stares of the Beuxbatons girls in her year. She nodded at the Hogwarts champion, a deathly white, ebony haired girl with a loose corset and horrible rectangle glasses, and leaned against the cold stone wall.

To be honest, she was having second thoughts about entering the Tournament, and thinking about beauty wouldn't help in this situation. _There's no going back now, _she thought. _You have to stay in the Tournament once your name's been pulled out, it's the rules. _There was nothing Marcelle could do. She nervously tightened her corset and blinked very fast, willing the tears not to come, willing to wake up and this had all been a dream…

"Marcelle, could you come inside please _chéri?" _Her mother called to her from inside the house.

"I'm milking Aidé, mother, give me a moment," she called back. In these early days when Marcelle had been young the family had a cow. The poor underfed thing was so thin you could see every rib on the its chest. Marcelle had loathed milking the cow out in the freezing cold air with her tatty, frayed clothes that the wind cut right through.

"Please _chéri, _this is important, we have news," Marcelle could hear the longing and badly concealed excitement in her voice, so she wrapped herself up in her coat and made her way back inside through the stiff, bitter cold air.

Entering their tiny, crumbling wooden cottage, Marcelle felt slight relief from the cold as she sat down next to the wood fire and stared expectantly at her mother as she sat down on the log in front of her. Marcelle saw her flinch at the effort it took her to sit down, feeling instantly guilty for every hassle she had ever given her mother in her illness. Marcelle had known, even when she was a child, that her mother would never truly recover from her sickness, it would only get worse and there was nothing she could do but work that little bit harder to try and earn a little more money.

Her mother took a deep breath and pushed her long, thin grey hair out of her face.

"You got in," she said, beaming. "You are enrolled in Beuxbatons Academy of Magic!" Marcelle leaped up and hugged her mother tight, purple sparks exploding from the fireplace from a surge of uncontrolled magic. They broke apart, both giggling, with tears in their matching inky blue eyes.

Marcelle continued to laugh and cry with joy for several minutes, but her mother broke out in a fit of coughing and had to run to the kitchen to get a handkerchief. When she removed the white cloth there were scarlet specks of blood on it. Marcelle stared on anxiously, the short-lived joy of being accepted to school gone and replaced with her usual worries and fears for her mother and for her terrible penniless life.

The memory disappeared, vaporizing in to the bowels of her mind. She watched as the third champion strolled in and tried to listen attentively to Professor Aleksandrov as he described the challenge to come in a boring, drawling voice, but at least she could understand. Afterwards she stalked out of the room, trying to look as confident as she could, and ignored the other champions, who already seemed to know each other, completely.

Marcelle lay in bed and thought about what she had done. A tear slipped down her cheek.


	12. Chapter 12-A Beastly Past

Pyotr had been overjoyed at being picked as a champion. He had exuded total and utter confidence when he had strolled in to the chamber off the hall and listened to Professor Aleksandrov's mind numbing speech about the first task. As he walked back to his dormitory, nodding goodnight to Jane, all he could think of was how happy his father would be when he heard that Pyotr was in the draw to win 1000 galleons and bring honor and fame to their small family.

Pyotr ignored the shouts and taunts of all of the students in the common room and went straight to bed. He lay awake for a long time, thinking about the Tournament, trying to guess what the first task would be. _I have no idea, _he thought. _Our Headmasters are some of the most powerful and imaginative wizards in the world. _

And if he won, his father could never say a bad word against him! Or, if he did, it would be to critique his performance, not to offend him. _He will love me again, _he told himself. _Like he did before…_

And Pyotr became young again, only a toddler. They were in Athens. The sun was shining through the branches of the trees that stretched over the clearing his family sat in, happily eating their picnic. His mother was Greek and had always wanted to take him back to her home country. Pyotr had loved it, even as a fickle toddler. There he was sitting now, playing with the crust of the sandwich his mother had gotten him to eat part of, while Pyotr's mother and father sat happily next to each other, hand in hand, comforted by the gentle breeze and the warm sunlight on their backs.

Suddenly Pyotr heard a noise in the forest behind him. It sounded like footsteps, pawsteps maybe. To a toddler it was the gentle padding of a new friend. He carefully got up, his parents immersed in conversation, and crept away from the picnic towards the creature, whatever it was.

He followed the crackling of dry leaves through the sunlit forest, until he came to another clearing. This area was darker, and bigger than the one he had left. He scanned the bushes, his tiny eyes longing to see the familiar faces of his mother and father. Pyotr walked out in to the middle of the clearing and turned in a full circle. Then, across the clearing from him, something emerged from the bushes.

It stepped lightly, its huge hooves making barely a sound on the bare forest floor. To Pyotr, this beast was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It threw back its gigantic head and shook out its mane, and Pyotr looked in to its pure white eyes. They almost seemed to be glowing, enticing the child closer.

Its long dragon-like tail swished menacingly, but the child continued to step forward, enchanted. Pyotr reached up to touch the creature, ignoring the strange sounds behind him. Pyotr's mother ran forward in to the clearing, shouting for her tiny son.

The beast's razor-sharp teeth were bared, but to the Pyotr it looked like it was smiling, happy to meet its new friend.

Just as the Chimaera reared, ready to devour its new prey, Pyotr's mother jumped in front of the creature, shielding her young child. It grabbed her with its mighty lion's jaws and dragged her off in to the woods. Pyotr's father crashed in to the clearing just in time to see his screaming wife pulled in to oblivion by the savage beast and his small son standing by, unsure what had happened.

The poor man fell to his knees and wept. His one and only love had been stolen from him, and it had been the fault of no-one but his son and that horrid mongrel of a creature. From that moment on his only happiness came from spite, and in the sweet revenge he felt every time he slayed a Chimaera. He could never bring himself to love his son, when he was the one who brought around his beloved wife's destruction. And Pyotr had always blamed himself for her death, taking a lead from his father. Their lives had both been made hollow. And neither thought they could do anything about it.

Pyotr wiped his eyes, determination finally setting in over the elation. His father had never been proud of him, no matter what he did, but this was something he couldn't ignore. Pyotr knew he had to win. There was nothing else he could do.


	13. Chapter 13-A Lamb to the Slaughter

It had been a few weeks since the announcement of the Triwizard Champions before Headmaster Gagwilde approached Jane to tell her where to go for the first task.

"It's on the 14th of November at 12 O'clock, third floor, second door on the right. There should be and entrance chamber, stay there until instructed to enter the next room," he had said. Jane nodded in understanding. "And Jane?" he called after her as she turned to walk away, "Good luck. We're all counting on you for another Hogwarts victory."

Jane forced a confident grin but was afraid it came out as more of a grimace.

On the fourteenth of November, Jane dressed anxiously in her school robes, which were the most practical ones she had, sturdy leather shoes and didn't wear a corset. This was a little rebellious, but she figured that she always wore it so loose anyway that nobody would notice. She also cleaned her glasses and wore her hair up in a practical ponytail instead of her usual braid. Jane wasn't really sure why suddenly she cared so much how she looked, or had the creeping feeling that she had to be prepared. Maybe it was just the nerves.

At 12 O'clock she staggered up the third-floor staircase with the other champions, waved on half-heartedly by her fellow Hogwarts students. Somehow the information had leaked that the first task was on the fourteenth and noon, so naturally most of the students from each school were there. Pyotr had said 'Hello' gruffly when they arrived, which Jane appreciated as she had heard from rumors that hearing his voice was a rare occurrence.

They awkwardly entered the chamber through the second door on the right and sat down in the stiff chairs provided. The Beuxbatons champion, Marcelle, kept curling her beautiful sleek dark hair around her wand and nervously tightening her already suffocating corset, and Pyotr was running his hand through his short-cut, almost black hair and fiddling with the long ebony eyelashes framing his deep brown eyes. Jane kept fidgeting nervously and pushing her glasses back up her nose, which they were sliding down with the amount of cold sweat that was breaking out all over her body.

At some point an Imp came in with three glasses of water, which they all drank in one, their throats dry with nerves. To Jane the water tasted funny, but the others didn't seem to react to it at all, so maybe it was just the norm here. If anything, drinking so much just made her throat dryer.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Jane resorted to chanting comforting words to herself under her breath. "It'll be fine, you'll be okay, nobody's going to die. You'll be OKAY." But in reality, she was thinking quite different. _This is horrible, what have you done? You never should have entered, this is insane, _she thought to herself, no matter how much she tried to shut down her restless mind.

The silence had become awkward, and Jane was about to say something just to break it when Headmaster Aleksandrov walked out of the adjacent room.

"Welcome," he said, clearly holding back some excitement, "To the First Task. You may enter the room behind me now, and my fellow heads and I will explain the task ahead."

They all got up from their seats and followed him towards the open door, trying to get a peek inside. Jane had the uneasy feeling she was walking to her doom, like a lamb to the slaughter.


	14. Chapter 14-The First Task

Marcelle's throat was dry as they followed Professor Aleksandrov in to the room, despite the whole glass of water she'd drunk. She was seriously beginning to regret the whole decision to enter the tournament. Her hair had become greasy with sweat, and her stomach had twisted in to a double knot.

Peeking around the door with the other two champions, the color drained out of her face as she clapped eyes on the huge reinforced iron cauldrons and menacing looking shelves of ingredients. This was a potions room. They were brewing something, no doubt something incredibly difficult.

_Well damn you, Marcelle, _she cursed to herself. _There's nothing you can do now. _Marcelle was terrible at brewing potions. Her only strength was simple beauty potions used for hair and skin, but she guessed that wouldn't be any use at all.

"Our Champions," Headmaster Aleksandrov said warmly. "Your task today is to create an antidote. You must identify the symptoms of a poison and brew a successful remedy. You can use any materials in this room and your wands. You may not interact with each other. You will have an hour to complete the potion." He said slowly and clearly so that they would understand perfectly. There was no need, however. All of the champions were listening like hawks, but Jane was still giving the headmaster a puzzled look.

The professor smiled. "I know you are wondering who you will be curing of a malady, and how they will be infected. I can tell you this much. The poison is deadly and will kill the consumer in exactly an hour and fifteen minutes. The symptoms are mildly painful and very obvious to the observer. And as for the victim's identity, well," he gave them all a sly grin. "I am trusting you all drank the water that was provided? And it tasted funny? Yes, you must treat yourselves."

Marcelle gulped and wrung her hands.

"Your time starts now. Good luck!"

The other two champions hurried off, Jane immediately prepping her cauldron and lighting a fire underneath, and Pyotr rushing over to examine the shelves of ingredients. Marcelle slowly walked to the remaining cauldron and tried to remember something useful.

_Come on, brain! _She commanded. _How can I not have learnt a single thing about antidotes in four years of potions classes? _

She gently massaged her aching stomach under her corset. She knew the pain wasn't from nerves or from the choking material, but from the poison creeping through her already weak body. Every time Marcelle had gotten sick she had felt like this and she had just had to tough it out with tiny amounts of precious homemade remedies for coughing and stomach pain. It had been horrible.

Marcelle walked around the room, staring at shelves, trying to find some meaning in any of the contents, but avoiding the space between the teacher's bench and the wall, where the three Heads were gathered, surely judging their performance. Pyotr was rummaging in some boxes across the other side of the room, and Jane looked like she was completely in her element, finding ingredients from all across the different cupboards and putting them in tiny jars and flasks, adding them in at the exact right moment with precise movements. At one point she even had a tiny clipping of her own hair.

_I have no idea what I'm doing, _Marcelle thought, helpless tears coming to her eyes. The pain in her stomach had gotten worse, she was sweating uncontrolledly, and she could taste slithers of blood in her mouth. After limping in pain once more around the room, hoping to find an instruction book, something this classroom seemed to be devoid of, she collapsed down in to the wide windowsill and placed her sweaty hand against the cold glass, staring longingly out at the frosty lawns outside, where some of the younger children were running around, and the icy blue sky, where some of the older Durmstrang boys were flying over the towers. She so wished she could be out there with them, even in the bitter air; free of the burdens of being a champion, living in poverty, being exiled because of her heritage.

Tears slipped down her pale, sickly cheek as the pain in her body intensified. She coughed several times, and almost fainted when her hand came away specked with blood, reminded of her mother's condition. She lay on her side, horrified, eyes wide with terror.

_I am going to die, _she thought. _I am going to die when the hour's up and I can't do anything about it. _


	15. Chapter 15-The Antidote

Pyotr had initially been terrified when Professor Aleksandrov had told them what the task consisted of. He couldn't brew potions to save his life, his strengths lying in Transfiguration and creating new spells. That was before he remembered the simple trick he had used to blitz all of his Potions exams in sixth year.

After the Headmaster had announced the beginning of the challenge, Jane had rushed off and determinedly started brewing a helplessly complicated antidote. She had obviously worked out exactly what the poison was and knew precisely how to cure it, and Pyotr couldn't help admiring her for it. He found remembering things like that incredibly hard. Pyotr had rushed over to the storage shelves immediately, ignoring his cauldron and equipment; he wouldn't need it if all went well.

Pyotr perused the displays, searching for what he needed. _Come on, _he thought. _Every other Potions room in the school is stocked full of them. _A few times he almost bumped in to Marcelle, who muttered 'sorry' with her strong French accent and hurried off, terrified. _Poor girl. _She looked so lost, she had no idea what to do. It seemed Marcelle didn't have much experience with potions.

Just as Marcelle curled up, hopeless, in the sunken windowsill, Pyotr found what he was looking for. _Finally, _he pulled the box off the shelf, relieved. _Bezoars. _

He knew that they didn't cure every poison, but they cured almost all and there was a fair chance it would detoxify the venom now coursing through his veins. Pyotr jumped as Marcelle thumped to the ground, unconscious, and scarlet blood dropped on to the floor from her mouth. The other champions immediately rushed to help, Jane turning slightly grey.

"Stop!" Headmaster Aleksandrov called. "The champions must not interact with each other! Get back to your work!" He scowled at the two, who had stopped short a foot away from Marcelle. They glanced at each other, then both returned to their tables.

Marcelle sat up, trembling, and wiped her mouth. Seeing the blood on the floor, she realized what had happened and leaned against the wall behind her, now shaking violently. Pyotr felt his heart twinge with sympathy, he felt so much pity for this helpless child. She was so young, he had no idea why she had entered in a bloodbath Tournament like this. There was talk of calling the entire event off because the death toll was so high.

Pyotr knew that their lives meant nothing to the Headmasters, no matter how many kind words they poured in to them in hope that their school would win. This wasn't about the champions, it was about them, and the glory they brought the Headmaster, not the school, not their families. The rivalry between the schools had grown to be monstrous.

_If I don't do anything, she will die. I can't let anyone die, not in the first task. _He resolved to help Marcelle, or at least keep her alive until the next task. As Marcelle stared trying to lift her weak body off of the floor, she started coughing again, huge wheezing bellows that sprayed blood all over her tiny body. He flinched and saw Jane's hand shaking over her potion and tears in her eyes as she tried to ignore it.

With a determined stroke, Pyotr knocked the entire box of bezoars to the floor with a crash.

"Sorry," He said gruffly to the air.

As he bent to pick them up he gently kicked some towards where Marcelle was trying to clean herself up while attempting to hold back another fit of coughing. She stared at the rolling abnormality as it came nearer to her, and in turn picked it up to examine. Pyotr caught her eye as he kneeled to scoop the rest in to the box, and behind the table mimed swallowing something.

She stared blankly back at him, clearly in shock that he was doing anything to help her, but after a while she recovered herself and nodded quickly to show she understood.

Smiling, Pyotr stood back up, all the stones packed back in to the box, and tried to ignore the suspicious stares of the judges. In an instant a complete felling of dizziness hit him, sending the room spiraling and him stumbling to the floor.

_What was that? _He silently asked himself as he got up, massaging his head. Jane was staring in concern. He noticed that her skin had turned an unusual color; partly green with splotches of grey and purple. Her fingers, with which she was dedicatedly stirring her cauldron, were butter yellow.

Pyotr grabbed on to the table for support as another dizzy spell hit him. _I'd better hurry up with this bezoar. _He didn't know if it would work, or if Marcelle would be able to keep hers down either with all that coughing, but it was worth a try and he guessed there wasn't much time left for anything else now. Just as Jane started measuring out her antidote in to a tiny clear flask, Pyotr put the bezoar in to his mouth.

Opening his eyes again, Pyotr picked himself up off the floor and spat the thing out in front of him. He felt much better, the poison must have been terminated. _Yes! _He thought, picking up the little stone and wiping it on his shirt. He was used to the side effects by now, most of the time something like this happened when using a bezoar.

Almost in unison, Marcelle gently placed the bezoar in her mouth and Jane swallowed her antidote with a grimace. Pyotr was sure the bezoar had worked as an antidote, he had no pain and all of the dizziness was gone. He had also stopped sweating.

"You have five minutes left!" Headmaster Aleksandrov announced as Jane took the flask away from her mouth and sighed with relief as her color returned to normal (which was still incredibly pale), and Marcelle stood up, rubbing her stomach and smiling, with a slightly wet bezoar in her hand.


	16. Chapter 16-The Results

For the remaining thirteen minutes, Jane and the other champions cleaned up their cauldrons and workspaces and put all the ingredients back on the shelves that wallpapered the room. Jane was so relieved that Marcelle and Pyotr had both survived. She had to admit, she had identified the poison the second that the Headmaster had told them that they were the ones infected. The poison was indeed deadly; it was called carotinigo and symptoms could be different for each person, but one thing the same was the stomach pain. It started out with a feeling of it being tied in knots and eventually accelerated in to incredible cramps. She was glad that the first task actually demanded intellectual prowess, not just brute strength or dueling ability. Jane loved brewing potions and had learnt the exact antidote for this particular potion last year for extra credit. She had known she would live, at least; if not win. It was a good feeling, to finally have certainty that she could survive.

Now, as the challenge ended, the champions stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the judges' table. Professor Gagwilde was surveying his watch eagerly and they were all waiting anxiously.

"And three, two, one… That's the end! It's been an hour and fifteen minutes since you drunk the water!" He announced gladly.

"Congratulations!" Madame Maxime said warmly to them all in her regal French accent.

"Yes," Headmaster Aleksandrov said carefully, sounding almost disappointed. "Good job. You have all survived." He heaved a sigh.

"Now, we will all give you a mark out of 100. This will be based on your success, your abiding by the rules, and the effort you put in to the challenge. We will announce your scores in reverse order of placement.

"In third place is Marcelle Alix," Everyone politely clapped for Marcelle. "Marcelle displayed extremely painful and worrying symptoms of the poison, and for over half an hour seemed to be very unsure of what to do. At around twenty minutes remaining she found a bezoar, under extremely suspicious circumstances in which another champion is suspected to have interacted, which cured her malady successfully. Well done Marcelle, we award you a score of 45." Jane gave Marcelle an encouraging smile, while trying to contain her excitement. _I didn't lose, I didn't lose! I got more than 45 points!_

"In second place is Pyotr Poliakoff," Jane clapped hard and grinned madly. _This means I won! I can't believe it, I won! _"Pyotr did not appear to identify the poison but searched for most of the given time for bezoars, a cure to most venoms. It was a risk many would not be comfortable taking, which shows extreme bravery on his part. However, there was suspicious activity involving an entire box of bezoars which were seemingly knocked over on purpose and not cleaned up thoroughly enough," He gave Pyotr a stern glance. "However, his method was successful and for this we award him 50 points."

The Headmaster cleared his throat.

"And in first place, with 56 points, is Jane Haversham-Smythe," Everyone clapped, and Headmaster Gagwilde mouthed 'well done!'. "Jane identified the poison seemingly immediately and proceeded to create a very efficient and extremely high-standard antidote using a variety of ingredients. Her potion was completed well inside the time limit and even while she showed extreme symptoms of shakiness and altered skin color. Congratulations Jane, this puts Hogwarts on top." He said all this with a very bored sounding tone, like he was trying to hold back rage by concealing it with unbelievable dullness. Jane couldn't help grinning.

As the champions moved to leave the room, Professor Gagwilde called after them.

"Wait! What about the _other announcement?" _He said, staring meaningfully at Headmaster Aleksandrov.

"Oh, yes!" He said, smiling maliciously. "As is tradition at the time of the Triwizard Tournament, on Christmas Eve we will host the Yule Ball," Pyotr and Jane both groaned, but Marcelle squeaked with excitement.

"The champions must all have a partner, as they will open the dance. Good luck, and goodnight." He said, dismissing them from the room.

Jane and Pyotr both dragged out as if being led to their doom, but Marcelle practically bounced, babbling in indistinguishable French as they went down to the Dining Hall for the celebratory feast. She merrily waved goodbye to them as she took a seat. Jane saw that the results had been written on a large board suspended above the head table. A lot of other Hogwarts students smiled and waved at Jane, clearly having a lot more sympathy towards her after her victory. One group of girls in her year even waved her over to sit with them. She turned to say goodbye to Pyotr, but he had disappeared. She frowned and went over to sit with the others. _I could've sworn he was right there. _

After a slightly awkward meal (thanks to Jane's nonexistent social skills) made more delicious for the fact the last thing Jane ingested was a disgustingly bitter antidote, she boldly approached the table she had seen Pyotr sitting alone at the night before. Now it was filled with a rowdy looking group of boys, one of which she recognized.

"Hey," He said to her as she approached. "Jane, right? I'm Radko." He nodded.

"Hello. I was just wondering if you knew where Pyotr went? I swear he was next to me when I came in, but he seems to have disappeared," she asked awkwardly. The boys laughed.

"Want to ask him to the Yule Ball, huh? Well, he usually hides up on the roof, the narrowest staircase off the lobby leads straight there. But don't expect to get much of an answer out of him, sweetie," He taunted.

"No…I wasn't…Whatever," She stuttered. She thanked him feebly and walked away, followed by their mean laughter.

Jane made her way through the entrance hall at the base of the turret and up the narrow, twisting staircase to the roof entrance. It consisted of a rough wooden trapdoor with a large silver handle, the kind you'd find on a pirate ship. Taking a deep breath, Jane pushed it open and climbed on to the roof.

The view was incredible. She could see a huge, beautiful orange moon, floating in an inky sea of black, framed by incredible mountains that scraped the top of the sky. She spotted Pyotr what she guessed was about a second after he spotted her, judging by his mildly surprised expression. Picking her way through piles of crumbling stone, she went over to Pyotr and sat down in front of him. He was huddled in a hole in the wall of the turret, shivering from the cold breeze.

They stared at each other a moment before she talked.  
"I just wanted to say that I thought it was really kind that you helped Marcelle live instead of letting her die. I wanted to do the same thing, but I didn't know how, and I think that…" she sighed. "…If I was in your situation I most likely wouldn't have helped her. So I just wanted to tell you that it was really nice of you,"

Pyotr nodded appreciatively. "Thanks,"

Jane smiled weakly, stood up and made to walk away.

"Jane?" He called after her. She turned.

"Yes?" Pyotr stood up and met her eyes.

"Would you like to go to the Ball with me? Like just as friends?" He said nervously. At first Jane was so taken aback at this question that she couldn't speak, her mouth hanging open. Pyotr stared at the ground, disappointed, clearly regretting even asking.

"Of course," she replied. Pyotr looked up and smiled, the first true smile she had seen from him.

"Okay," He said, Jane still gaping, shocked. "I'll meet you…outside, at…I don't know, 7 O'clock?"

"Yes…sure," She said, stunned. Pyotr smiled, seeming to find her nervousness amusing.

"I'll see you there," He nodded goodbye and left the roof. Jane sat down in the same place Pyotr had been when she had first come on to the roof and stared at the orblike, golden moon. She still couldn't believe what had just happened.

_He asked me to the ball. What supreme force on this Earth could compel him to ask _me _to the ball?_

She stayed sitting on the roof in the cool night air for a long time before deciding to go down to bed. _There's no point staying up here, I may as well go down to sleep._

Caroline was still awake when Jane arrived at the carriage. Reading, she discovered, from one of the books that had been in Jane's suitcase. She said nothing but just nodded, which Jane took as a temporary peace offering. Jane chose not to mention anything about the book but instead mindlessly changed and fell in to bed, exhausted.

She wasn't sure if this was the best or worst day of her life.


	17. Chapter 17-A Grand Entrance

Marcelle had sat alone at dinner again, but for the first time she hadn't minded, even though the taunts had been a great deal worse than usual since she's lost the first task.

_There's going to be a ball! _She squealed inside her head. She was dancing inside. _I am SO excited! _Marcelle knew she would be alone going to the ball, there was no way anyone would ask her out, but she would look so beautiful at the actual event that _everybody _would ask her to dance.

As she walked back down to the Beuxbatons carriage she fantasized about the night, arriving alone, a strong, independent woman, but still getting asked to dance by almost everyone there. Distracted by these thoughts, she tripped and fell over a large rock sitting on the grass. Looking up, she was startled to see someone bending down to help her back to her feet. Smiling weakly, she accepted his hand.

"Thank you," she said graciously with her strong French accent.

"You're welcome," he grinned awkwardly, running a hand through his mop of curly brown hair.

"Who are you?" Marcelle asked, noticing his Durmstrang robes.

"I'm…My name's Radko. You're Marcelle Alix, right? The Beuxbatons champion?" he stuttered nervously.

"Yes," Marcelle replied, taken aback.

"Yeah…I wanted to ask you…would you like to come to the Yule Ball with me?" He said quietly, staring at his feet. Marcelle's mouth dropped open.

"I mean, its fine if you don't want to… I just thought I would ask because... you know…" his voice trailed off disappointedly.

"No, no, no, absolutely, I'll come," Marcelle assured him. "Of course, I'll go with you,"

He grinned goofily, running his hand through his hair again.

"I'll meet you at, say, quarter past 7?" She asked.

"Yeah, that's fine… I'll see you there, I guess," he replied. Marcelle smiled.

"Goodbye, Radko."

He smiled and they both walked off, Marcelle to the carriage and Radko back to the castle. As she collapsed in to bed, Marcelle finally managed to process what had just happened.

_Somebody…asked me….to the ball. _It seemed like sitting in that stuffy little room waiting for the first task to start was an eternity ago. _What a day, _Marcelle thought as she drifted gently off to sleep.

On Christmas Eve, Marcelle got up early to prepare herself for the ball. She planned to spend all day beautifying herself in preparation. Casting a disillusionment charm on herself, she tried on her dress robes quickly before she got dressed in to her fraying school ones. Beaming as she reappeared, Marcelle packed her beautiful creation back in to her suitcase. She had done up her mother's only pair of dress robes, which had been white, but she had cleverly fitted them and sewn in the curtain that had once hung around her four-poster back in France. Now they were ice blue and sparkled brighter than the stars.

Throughout the day she applied almost every lotion, serum or cream she knew. By 5 O'clock she looked like a goddess. She spent the last few hours before the ball sitting in the corner of the carriage, applying makeup and doing her hair in an elaborate bun hairstyle. Eventually, after she had applied all of her makeup and done her hair, she cast a disillusionment charm on herself and slipped in to her dress robes, twirling excitedly while no one could see her. She carefully stepped down in to the middle of the carriage and removed the charm. Immediately girls started whispering and giving her dirty looks, their extravagant dresses now looking bland in comparison. One of the girls that shared her dormitory, Giselle, looked close to tears, furious at being outshone by someone with no money when she was swimming in it.

Marcelle elegantly walked down the stairs of the carriage and out in to the crisp air, where she found Radko waiting, wearing a smart pair of black dress robes and a blood red waistcoat, his mouth hanging open in awe. She smiled as he offered her his arm, still gaping, and they walked up to the main doors together, the gentle sound of pianos and violins floating out from inside. Marcelle waved graciously as she saw Pyotr and Jane standing together just outside the pool of orange light spilling out from the doorway and adjusted her hair slightly, then, grinning, she turned to Radko.

"Now for the fun part," she whispered gleefully to him under her breath, and they entered the hall arm in arm.


	18. Chapter 18-The Yule Ball

Pyotr waited outside the grand front doors of Durmstrang for Jane at 7 O'clock as promised. He was wearing a very dark burgundy suit, almost black, and a crisp white waistcoat. They were the best clothes he owned, and he had very much enjoyed picking them out from the store a year ago when he bought them. In truth, fashion was one of the things Pyotr weirdly enjoyed, along with creating new spells to achieve every odd and end. He had been working on a new one recently, actually.

Just as the music drifting out from the hall stopped with one reverberating note so the band could change to the next song, Pyotr caught sight of Jane walking up the hill towards him. It was all he could do not to gape. She was wearing a mint green satin dress with no frills or beads or embroidery like all the other girls. The light, flowing sleeves reached all the way to the ground, with slits on either side for her arms. The dress material came all the way up to her neck, where the only embellishment on the dress lay in the form of a sparkling neckline lined with pearls. Her hair was swept up in to a neat bun, fastened with another string of pearls. While all the others blended together by being 'extra', Jane's plain dress stood out like a beacon, and she was getting a few envious stares because of it. The only part of her outfit that was out of place were her ugly oval glasses. Pyotr grinned. Old habits die hard.

Jane smiled as she approached him.

"Hello," she said timidly. Pyotr swallowed.

"You... you look stunning," he stuttered.

"Thank you," her face turned the same colour as Pyotr's suit and pushed her glasses back up on to her nose. Pyotr frowned.

"What is it?" Jane asked, concerned.

"Close your eyes,"

"What?" she said, taken aback.

"Trust me." Jane reluctantly closed her eyes. Pyotr slid the glasses off and produced his wand from a handy pocket on the inside of his jacket.

"_Horom visus_," he muttered under his breath, pointing the tip of his wand at her face. Jane opened up her eyes, and almost toppled over.

"I…I can _see,_" She gasped. Pyotr grinned triumphantly. "How…how?" she asked, shocked.

"It's a spell I invented," Pyotr struggled to keep the pride out of his voice. "Now you don't need to wear glasses anymore,"

Jane gave him a deeply impressed look. "You invented it?"

Pyotr smiled and nodded.

"It's not permanent, so you might want to keep these," he handed her back her glasses. "The spell will wear off in around a month."

"Thank you," Jane looked truly grateful. And now she wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of wearing her horrible glasses to the Yule Ball. Pyotr grinned in amusement as he saw Marcelle and Radko walking up the hill together, Radko practically drooling in the presence of Marcelle and her gown, by far the most sparkly thing he had ever seen. Jane waved to her, and then turned back to Pyotr.

"Should we go inside? We're supposed to open the dance," she asked.

"Of course," he offered her his arm, and they walked inside.

Pyotr was glad they had entered the hall right after Marcelle and Radko. All eyes were on them -well specifically Marcelle and her ridiculous glittering dress- and Pyotr and Jane were barely noticed, which was just the way they both liked it. When they entered the hall, they were immediately met by Headmaster Gagwilde.

"Oh, there you two are, I've been waiting for ages! You're at least..." he checked his watch. "Three minutes late!" he fussed. The small rectangle tables in the hall had been covered with snow white tablecloths and large floral bouquets, and a space had been cleared in the middle of the hall for dancing. The Headmaster ushered them over to a round table at the very front of the room, where Radko and Marcelle were already sitting. Pyotr noticed there were two extra seats.

"Of course, we catered for two extra people," The Headmaster said, glancing at Pyotr and Jane. "But since you two decided to come together…"

They both sat down, and when the headmaster hurried off to go attend to some other important matter Jane glared at him for a good two minutes. For around fifteen minutes they sat and made small talk with Marcelle and Radko while all of the students came in. _I still can't believe they went together. _Pyotr smiled to himself. _Of all the people. _

After what seemed like an eternity, Headmaster Aleksandrov rose from his seat in the centre of the high table, commanding silence.

"Welcome to the Yule Ball! As is tradition, our champions will start the dance. Hit it Randolph!" He said, pointing to the conductor of the orchestra. He nodded, and they started playing a waltzy tune. The champions all got up and made their way to the centre of the dance floor. After the song (in which Pyotr was able to successfully not step on Jane's toes) ended, all of the other guests joined them on the dance floor. Jane and Pyotr stayed for a few more songs, then made their way back to the table. Several important looking people came over and introduced themselves to them, and with each new one Jane began to look more uncomfortable and exasperated, especially after every one of them seemed to know who she was.

"Are you okay?" he asked after yet another stuffy businessman had come to introduce himself. _Why do they even invite people like this? Isn't this ball just for students? _

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jane sighed. "Do you want to get some fresh air?" She looked up at him with a pleading expression, and he understood what she meant. _I need to get out of here, _her eyes told him. _I will murder the next person who comes up to talk to us. _Pyotr nodded and they discreetly left the hall. Nobody noticed, almost everyone in the room still under the spell of Marcelle's dress, which was casting reflections across the room as she danced.

Pyotr and Jane both headed in the direction of the roof without a word. He could see the relief on Jane's face when they finally stepped in to the cool air. Pyotr sat in his usual spot and Jane positioned herself on a crumbling stone brick next to him.

"I was wondering," Pyotr said. "How did everyone in there know your name?"

Jane sighed.

"My parents…they're very wealthy. They're quite well known for being stupid and cruel." Pyotr smiled bitterly.

"Families can be tough. I know you're neither of those things," he said consolingly. Jane blushed.

"But I have to ask," Pyotr continued, "If your parents are wealthy, why did you enter in the Tournament?"

"It's a long story," She stared awkwardly at the ground. "My little sister… she's a squib. My parents prejudiced pure bloods, and they hate her. They treat her like some kind of animal," Pyotr could hear the suppressed rage in her voice. "If I win the money we can run away from home, go somewhere they can never find us, and she can grow up away from all that. Maybe go to muggle school. Start a normal life,"

Pyotr nodded grimly. He understood. Jane heaved a sigh.

"What about you?" She asked. "Why did you enter the Tournament?"

_Should I trust her? _His mind was racing with things she could do if he told her. _No. It's not fair. She told me her reason for entering. _So he started telling the story.

"My father has always hated me because… when I was younger, my mother died from a Chimaera attack," he took a deep breath. "She was Greek and we went back to Athens, where she grew up. We were having a picnic in a forest and I wandered off. She followed me and dived in front to protect me before the Chimaera killed me. I was just a toddler, but my father always blamed me for it. Hunting magical beasts is his job now," Pyotr looked up in to Jane's horrified face.

"That's horrible," she muttered, shocked.

"I do little things to try and impress him, to make him care a little. I thought… I thought if I won the Tournament, and that thousand galleons, he might be proud of me for once," He said quietly. Pyotr wiped his eyes.

Jane checked her watch, cleverly disguised as a pearl bracelet, and yelped.

"It's 9 O'clock already!"

Pyotr looked up and smiled.

"We should go back down," he said. Jane nodded, and they stood up.

"By the way, I love your dress," Pyotr said. Jane blushed and stared at the ground.

"Thank you. It's the only one my mother's ever bought me that I actually like." She said.

"Pink?"

"Yeah," She grinned. "And frills,"


	19. Chapter 19-The Second Task

Tiny beams of sunlight shone through the shutters of Jane's carriage window, falling on to her face and waking her from her dream. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up in her bed. Today was the 23rd of January. The day of the first task. While she dressed, Jane tried to remember the dream she had been having. _It was something about the Yule Ball again, _she thought. _I mean, it was a great night, but why do I keep dreaming about it? _Most of what she remembered was about those businessmen that had kept introducing themselves to her and Pyotr. They had all looked vaguely familiar. _Strange. _

Eventually Jane stepped out of the carriage and went down to breakfast, pocketing her glasses just in case Pyotr's spell chose this particular day to wear off. _Knowing my luck that's probably what'll happen. _Her stomach rumbled. She needed to eat something before the challenge. All she knew was that she could only bring her wand, and that she had to meet the judges outside the school at 9 O'clock. _That gives me 45 minutes to eat and mentally prepare myself. _

She walked in to the dining hall, waving to Pyotr, who was sitting two seats away from everyone at a table with his age group. She sat down at her usual table, which everyone had kindly left unoccupied for her yet again. The disgusting Imps came and served everyone food, eggs and bacon this morning, and an assortment of beverages appeared in the middle of each table. Jane poured herself a glass of lavender tea. She had been avoiding the water since the First Task.

At five to nine she proceeded to the great front doors, where Pyotr and Marcelle were already waiting. She shivered in the cold breeze. _I should have brought a coat. _Pyotr nodded to her and Marcelle muttered a feeble "Hello,". She was clearly very nervous. _You couldn't blame her, she didn't exactly do well at the first task. _

"My Champions!" A voice boomed from down near the edge of the forest. Headmistress Maxime beckoned them over. "The other judges are waiting for you at our destination. Come this way!" She said in her regal French accent. They reluctantly followed her in to the dark forest.

For almost half an hour they trekked up the mountainside, following after an ecstatic Madame Maxime, who kept saying things like "Not much further now!" and "Just around here!". Just as Jane decided they were officially lost, they turned and were facing a large, round void in the mountainside. There was a table set up inside where the other two judges were sitting drinking tea from elegant teacups.

"Madame Maxime!" Professor Gagwilde called, rising from the table. "We were about to go out looking for you. Are they all here? Yes! How lovely! Let's begin, shall we, Aleksandrov?" He said enthusiastically.

"Yes," The Headmaster had a sly smile on his face. "You have arrived just on time. Currently it is exactly 28 minutes past nine," he said, checking his watch. "In two minutes, you will all set out in to this cavern," He indicated the gaping hole in the mountainside behind him. "And you will try and collect as many jewels as you can within the time limit of one hour. There are chests full of useful equipment stationed at checkpoints within the cave. You may only use your wands and any supplies you find at the checkpoints. Good luck. Your time starts…now."

Jolting in to action, the three champions rushed past the Judges' tea table and in to the cave, igniting their wands. They were faced with a three-way fork. They glanced at each other then each went down a different path, Jane taking the middle one.

"Good luck," Pyotr whispered to her before she set off. She could only manage a small smile in return.


	20. Chapter 20-Newt

Marcelle took the left fork in the cave, blindly sprinting down the narrow corridor. She had only managed to choke down a feeble breakfast that morning, consisting of only 1 piece of toast, and now was bearing the consequences. Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she clutched it anxiously, worried it would alert some vile creature of her presence. _Not now, stomach, _she thought desperately. _All those years I starved at home and you didn't make a sound then. Why now?_

Marcelle continued her way down the pitch-black hall, her glowing wand creating the only small dome of light in the space. She left one hand on the wall to guide her, so she would know if there was a turn ahead. She was desperate not to fail this challenge. The tunnel suddenly got steeper, arching violently downwards. Marcelle followed the trail, the rock wall brushing roughly under her delicate fingers. She still couldn't feel the smooth, cold surface of a gem, and when she shone her wand against the wall no jewels glittered in the cold blue light.

Unexpectedly the tunnel twisted, turning right. Marcelle realized she had come to a fork in the tunnel. Taking the right path, she spotted the warm glow of firelight ahead. Breaking in to a run, she reached a dead end where a lit torch was flickering in a bracket against the wall. On the ground at her feet there lay a small tortoiseshell box, embellished with gold, inside which some small creature seemed to be squeaking.

Bending down, she nervously fumbled with the lock before managing to open the box. Out jumped a tiny, fluffy creature with a bill-like nose. Marcelle squealed and fell backwards. The creature started sniffing around the walls, surveying its surroundings. _Ok, keep calm, it hasn't attacked you, everything will be alright. _She thought, trying to calm herself down. She slowly got to her feet and stepped closer to the creature, her heart racing.

"You're a friendly little creature, aren't you? You won't hurt me?" She asked the thing fearfully.

It stared up at her judgmentally, as if to say, "_do I look_ _like a _dog _to you?"_ and proceeded to burrow in to the wall, creating a tiny tunnel.

"No, come back!" Marcelle called desperately after it. She sat for a while by the tiny burrow, her spirits sinking. _What was I thinking, entering in this stupid Tournament? I'm never going to win. _She got up and turned away from the torch, intending on looking for another chest, when she heard a clattering behind her.

Spinning around, she saw a gem appear at the entrance to the creature's burrow. Stunned, she bent down and picked it up. It was a fat, glittering ruby.

"What the…" She said, as more jewels started appearing at the base of the miniature tunnel, clattering down like a production line, first emeralds and citrine, then amber and sapphires, and even huge clear crystals that looked like diamonds. Marcelle laughed gleefully, picking up the jewels in delight. Eventually the little animal came back down the tunnel, sliding down the slope on his furry behind.

"You're a Niffler, aren't you?" she asked him happily. "Thank you, little guy!" She tickled his stomach with a finger and her nuzzled in to her hand.

"Now how am I going to transport all these jewels?" The Niffler scurried over to the box and sat down beside it, indicating for Marcelle to look inside. She found a large, leather drawstring bag. It wasn't exactly fashionable, but it would do the job. "Thank you," She said, and proceeded to fix her hair, which had been severely messed up in the scuffle.

Scooping all the gems in to the bag, Marcelle and her Niffler set off in to the cave, taking the left fork which led away from the Niffler's box. "I think I'll call you Newt," she told the Niffler, who had perched itself on her shoulder. "I don't know why, it just feels right," He nuzzled in to her neck, telling her he agreed. They walked through the tunnel, Marcelle keeping one hand on the wall. Every time she felt the smooth surface of a gem embedded in the rock, she alerted Newt, who promptly dug it out.

The tunnel was twisting right every so often and Marcelle was anxious that they were going in a circle, especially when the path angled upwards. Still they followed it, until they came to a huge cavern with stalactites and stalagmites hanging from the roof and floor, and a large pool of fresh water in the middle. "Woah," Marcelle said, and gently set her bag down on the floor. It was getting heavier with every step. "I never know. What's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?" She asked Newt. The Niffler tried to shrug, which failed but was adorable. Leaving her bag at the entrance to the cavern, she walked over to the rockpool and peered in.

She gasped. The bottom of the pool was lined with jewels of every shape and colour, sparkling in her wandlight. Careful not to get her clothes wet, Marcelle rolled up her sleeve and reached in to grab a large pink gem that had caught her attention. She felt the Niffler's weight shift uneasily on her shoulder. "It's alright, little guy," She said soothingly. "And don't claw my shirt like that, you'll ruin it." She reached down, her hand plunging in to the bone-cold water for the first time. She grabbed the pink gem and gave it to Newt, who quickly ran and tucked it safely away in the bag for her. Marcelle plunged both hands in and started raking the bottom of the pool for more treasures, the niffler still shuffling restlessly on her shoulder. The cold water barely bothered her, she was so used to washing clothes outside in the dead of winter back home.

Suddenly New screeched and fell backwards off her, scrambling towards the entrance. "What is it? Wait!" She called after him, trying to follow but finding her hands glued to the bottom of the pool. The jewels she had been trying to lift had all melted together to bind her hands. Something glinted in the corner of her eye. There was an eerie blue light coming from the opposite end of the pool. It looked like some kind of creature. The thing snaked through the water towards her, slithers of blue light curling around her bound wrists.

Marcelle stopped struggling against the weight of the melted jewels and stared, mesmerised by the glow. Her heart rate settled, and she felt herself being lulled in to a gentle stupor. The water rose in front of her, creating an arc. She felt dark thoughts flowing in to her brain, splintering the daze she had been in. Voices whispered to her from the darkness.

"_You can never win, Marcelle," _they said. "_Your mother can not be cured. You will forever be lonely. It would be better to die than to suffer. Don't be fooled by the others' smiles, they don't care for you. Nobody cares. Nobody." _She felt a tear sliding down her cheek. She had enough. "Stop it!" she shouted, sobbing. "Stop!" the crystal binding her hands broke, and she jumped to her feet, grabbing her wand off the floor next to her. As quickly as it had appeared, the creature in the water dissipated. Marcelle heard the scuttling sound of millions of feet around her. She ran towards the exit but was immediately blocked by a gargantuan insect. Marcelle screamed and fell backwards, crawling back towards the rockpool. She heard the scuttling again behind her and sprung up to her feet, terrified. Circling the room all around her were hundreds of huge, beetle-like insects, with pitch-black shells that reflected her wandlight.

Marcelle screamed yet again and sprinted out of the cavern as they pounced on her in unison, using each other to build up a writhing wall. It fell before she reached the exit, some tangling in her hair and others latching on to the hem of her skirt. Marcelle couldn't think straight, the creature in the water had messed up her brain. Her heart pumped, and she felt sweat flowing down her body as she sprinted away, stumbling over mud and rocks. She just ran, trying to shake the horrible insects off her. Every path she took more insects appeared out of nowhere, forcing her to struggle back and find another tunnel.

Eventually the creatures stopped coming, and Marcelle could breathe. She kept running until she reached a dead end, where she collapsed, sobbing. She was drenched in sweat and dirt, her hands bloody with cuts and her knees covered in bruises. The voices she had heard in the cavern were echoing around her head. "_It would be better to die than to suffer. Nobody cares. Nobody." _

She completely broke down, cowering against the wall, screaming and crying. "I didn't ask for this!" She howled in to the dark tunnel. "I didn't… I didn't…" The tears took over. She was sobbing so loud that at first, she didn't notice the scratching sound coming from behind her. It gradually grew louder, the familiar sound of tiny nails scraping against a wall of rock. Marcelle sprung away from the wall just as Newt crawled out of the burrow he had created, dragging the drawstring bag of jewels they had collected. The niffler collapsed as soon as he worked his way out of the hole. Marcelle broke away the sections of rock around the bag and pulled it out. It was a lot fatter than before. _He must have been collecting more on his way. _

"Thank you, oh thank you so much," She managed to choke out before she started sobbing again. Newt limped over to her and curled up in her lap. "They don't care, Newt," she spoke to him. "They don't care what happens to us,"


	21. Chapter 21-A Hellish Place Like This

The corridor was dark and smoldering hot. It was muddy, crumbling, and there was not a gem in sight. Pyotr had no idea how something as nice as a crystal could exist in a hellish place like this. _At least it's not in the air, _he thought. _You're safely on solid ground. Or under it, anyway. _

He followed the corridor downwards, getting hotter as it went. Eventually he came to a fork in the tunnel, and one path glinted under his wandlight. "Finally!" The entire corridor was lined with gems of every colour, shape and size. And at the end, there was a torch in a bracket in the wall. He sprinted towards it and found a chest the size of a single bed. "Woah,"

Opening it up, he saw a pickaxe and leather drawstring bag. Grinning to himself, he slung the empty bag over his shoulder and took the pickaxe up in both hands. "_This _is going to be fun,"

For some reason it was easy for him to talk to himself while he worked alone, knowing nobody was there to listen. "Much easier than when there's actually people here," he said, splitting another huge jewel from the wall where it was once embedded. Some of the stones he'd collected were damaged, but nonetheless it was quite a load.

He wondered what kind of obstacles the others were having to face. The judges had said there would be some, but he hadn't encountered any troubles. _Strange. _He walked around the complex of tunnels, occasionally hacking more gems out of the walls. The corridor he was following took a sharp turn, and he found himself faced with a three-way fork. The middle path had a strange light coming from the end, and it was flickering with movement more than firelight should be. He heard a scream.

Sprinting down the corridor, he found Jane curled in a ball against the wall, sobbing.

"What? What is it?" He asked her desperately. Then he saw what it was. The torch bracket went out as a tall, cloaked figure rose from the chest that Jane had opened. The room turned cold. Pyotr cursed under his breath.

Jane wimpered and slowly raised her wand "Expecto… expecto patronum!" The beautiful figure of a snowy owl burst forward from her wand, swooping the dementor, but as Jane let out another sob the animal dissipated.

"Get out of here! Go!" Pyotr shouted to Jane, raising his own wand. Jane stumbled up, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Expecto patronum!" He cried, and a stallion charged the dementor, obeying his every command, kicking and bucking at the monster. Eventually the light triumphed over darkness, and the dementor was no more.

Pyotr slumped against the wall, exhausted. He hoped he wouldn't get in trouble for what he'd done. _I couldn't have just left her. That would have been heartless. _He wondered what Jane had seen that had made her so traumatized. Her childhood can't have been that bad, with her parents being wealthy, going to a good school and all. Maybe there was something else.

Getting up, Pyotr set off again to find more gems. He noticed that Jane hadn't had any with her. _Maybe she dropped them somewhere. _

The battle with the dementor had put a surreal twist on the challenge. Pyotr understood now what little disregard the judges had for their lives. _They don't care, _he thought. _They don't care what happens to us._


	22. Chapter 22-No Tears Left To Cry

It was fair to say Jane had no idea what she was doing.

She still had tears running down her cheeks from the dementor attack. She'd seen all of the worst parts of her life flash before her eyes, when her mother whipped her sister for being a squib, when she fell off the balcony and had to lay paralyzed with two broken legs on the ground for an hour before anyone found her, the first time her mother and father had a big fight. It was hard to focus on winning the task when these images kept flashing throughout her mind, and she knew that was what the headmasters had wanted. They cared nothing or their wellbeing, they only wanted victory. And they would do anything to get it.

Jane hadn't found any jewels, and she guessed she was behind, as when she'd seen Pyotr shed noticed that he had a pickaxe slung across his back and was carrying a large rucksack Jane assumed was full of gems, yet she hadn't come across any.

_This is useless, _she thought. _I'm never going to find any jewels and even if I did, I couldn't get them out of the stupid rock walls. _

Then a realization hit. Jane facepalmed so hard that her head hurt. She stopped in her tracks, pointed her wand at the roof and yelled "Accio jewels!"

A scratching sound emitted from the roof and Jane covered her head as around half a dozen gems fell from tiny burrows in the ceiling. She grinned, wiping away the tears, and picked up the stones. She cast an undetectable extension charm on her pockets, though she doubted she'd need it if she only found these many gems each time she cast the charm. There probably wasn't much time left anyway. Then something occurred to her. _How are they going to bring us in when the time's up anyway? _She thought.

_Are they just going to let us wander the caves until we turn up in ten years' time? I wouldn't put it past them. _Maybe they'd cast some spell on them to make them return. Though there was no telling how big the cave system was, so it might be impossible.

_Best not to dwell on that. _And Jane pushed forward, stopping every so often to summon more jewels from the ceiling or walls. The results were sporadic, sometimes there being an abundance of shining crystals, some spells turning up none. She didn't come across another chest.

By the time she began wandering along the steep corridor, she had really lost hope. Even with all the gems she had summoned, she had barely anything and there was no use for her now magically extended pockets. There was no chance she was going to win.

When Jane noticed the light at the end of the tunnel, _natural _light, she immediately broke in to a run. The tunnel evened out, and she collapsed on the ground of the cavern in which she started the challenge. The headmasters started, halfway through sipping their tea.

"Jane!" Madame Maxime exclaimed in her lovely French accent. "How nice to see you, my darling. You are the first to arrive back! Congratulations!"

"Yes, yes, well done Jane," Headmaster Aleksandrov said, his voice spiteful. "How lovely that you're still alive," Jane fixed him with a stare as cold as ice. "But that wasn't the challenge. How many jewels have you got?" He took another sip from his teacup.

"Yes! How many did you get, Jane?" Professor Gagwilde asked. Jane apprehensively walked over to the table and turned out her pockets on an empty plate. There was a sparsity of jewels, barely enough to cover the plate. Madame Maxime counted them.

"Twenty…. three. And they're awfully dirty too," She picked one up but immediately dropped it and wiped the residue off her hands. "I'd hate to see the insides of your pockets. Tell me, how did you get them?" She asked.

"I summoned them," Jane said uncomfortably.

"But you couldn't be bothered to get that many, I see," Aleksandrov commented. "Must not have come across any corridors lined with them. I thought we planted quite a few entire walls of jewels."

Jane tried not to gasp. There had been _entire corridors _lined with gems and she hadn't been through a single one?

Just then Marcelle skipped gleefully in to the entrance chamber, a bulging rucksack slung over her shoulder and a strange little creature resting on her other. Her hair was messed up, her knees covered in scratches, she had a scar under her left eye and looked like she'd been crying but appeared utterly gleeful now.

"Madame Maxime!" She said. "I have brought you these," And she hoisted the rucksack on to the other side of the table, opening it up to reveal hundreds of pure, shining jewels of every colour. Jane's heart sank. The creature on her shoulder, _a niffler, _Jane realised, jumped joyfully in to the bag and started doing a backstroke through the rainbow sea of gems.

"Oh, very good, very good!" Madame Maxime laughed. "Now I think I'll have to use magic to count these lovelies," Jane looked at the floor uncomfortably as Professor Gagwilde gave her a piercing stare.

"Three hundred and … ninety-four! Congratulations Marcelle!" She announced.

They had to wait around a quarter of an hour for Pyotr to show up, and during that time Jane noticed Marcelles smile slide of her face almost immediately as the teachers turned their attention back towards their tea. Marcelle stared dejectedly at the rock floor of the cavern, stroking her niffler.

When Pyotr finally arrived, he was also lugging a rucksack full of jewels. Madame Maxime counted them and proclaimed that Pyotr had exactly one hundred and forty-two.

"However, most of these are damaged," Professor Gagwilde noted. "He used a pickaxe to remove them from the wall, which wasn't the most effective method, so we should take points off for that," Headmaster Aleksandrov sniffed but agreed to take points off.

"Now for the winner. I think it's quite obvious who deserves the credit for this challenge. We award Marcelle Alix congratulations for winning the challenge. Your total was 394 gems. We have decided to award you a score of 60 out of 100, as your method for finding jewels was verifiable, and this challenge was much more difficult than the last. This brings your points to a total of 105. Congratulations." Marcelle managed a weak smile.

"Pyotr Poliakoff came in second with 142 jewels collected. He used a pickaxe to dislodge gems from the wall which damaged quite a few and impacted his score, however we have awarded him a total of 53 out of 100 points. This brings his final score to 103." Professor Aleksandrov's voice sounded much less dull while announcing this. He seemed proud that his champion had come in second for both challenges. _That would make sense. Durmstrang reportedly lost every challenge last Tournament. _

"And in third place, with a meagre 23 gems, was Jane Haversham-Smythe," Jane looked at the ground as everyone gently applauded her. "We have awarded her a score of 37 out of 100. This brings her total score to 93. Well done Jane," He smirked.

"This puts Beuxbatons on top, with Durmstrang in a very close second and Hogwarts third. While you are here, we see it fit to brief you for the next task, which will take place in two months' time. Professor Gagwilde, if you will," He said.

"Yes, yes, yes," Headmaster Gagwilde blustered to the front of the tea table to face the champions. He seemed very taken aback by Jane's loss.

"The next task will take place, as Headmaster Aleksandrov has already told you, in two months. You will be faced against each other in an arena, armed with only your wands, and you will duel.

"Any spells are allowed to be used, the only rules are that you may not wear any specially enchanted or protective clothing, you can only bring your wands in to the arena, and there is no physical contact allowed. You also may not heal another champion or aid each other in any visible way.

"We will remind you a week in advance to the challenge just in case you forget, though I find it unlikely that you would. The challenge will proceed at exactly noon in the entrance hall of the Durmstrang Fortress. Good luck!" His voice had a dull learned-by-heart tone to it. Marcelle's face had turned chalk white and she was shaking. Jane looked over at Pyotr, but his face was unreadable.

"Now, you best be off before sunset. Madame Maxime, if you would lead them back to the school," Professor Gagwilde continued. Madame Maxime nodded and made her way out the exit. The three champions followed, Marcelle's niffler still perched on her shoulder.


	23. Chapter 23-The Consequences of Power

Before, Marcelle had thought herself bad at duelling. Not anymore.

Dark magic books weren't that hard to find at Durmstrang anyway.

Marcelle was glad for her discovery, without learning some of those spells she was certain she wouldn't have had a chance at this task. She had learnt and practiced some of the really dark ones just in case, and she had more power than she thought. _I guess anyone does, if they know where to find it. _

She couldn't pretend she didn't feel guilty. She would lie awake at night, silently crying, terrified of the things she had seen and the things she now had the power and opportunity to unleash on innocent people. But she had entered a mind frame now where nothing and no one would stop her. She needed the money. More than Jane or Pyotr or anyone.

The morning before the challenge passed in a daze. Marcelle choked down a feeble breakfast, practiced the spells and techniques she had learnt, and then met Professor Gagwilde outside the doors to the entrance hall at a quarter to noon.

"My champions!" He said excitedly as they approached. Marcelle could hear the buzz of the crowd inside. "I am only to escort you in to the arena. After that, Madame Maxime is going to announce the match!"

This was clearly meant to build them up, but all three champions nodded blankly, poker-faced. Professor Gagwilde was taken aback by their silence and decided to just get on with it, leading them in to the arena.

Marcelle couldn't help feeling shocked as she entered through the grand front doors. The entire entrance hall had been transformed in to an arena, with a triangle-shaped platform in the middle and raised seating crawling up the walls. She gulped.

"The champions have now entered the arena!" She heard Madame Maxime's voice, amplified to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

"In third place, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is Jane Haversham-Smythe!" The Hogwarts students cheered and clapped wildly.

"In second place, from Durmstrang Institute of Magic, is Pyotr Poliakoff!" There was a roar from the Durmstrang crowd.

"And in first place, from Beuxbatons Academy, is Marcelle Alix!" Marcelle squirmed as everybody cheered for her. She loved being the centre of attention, but this was different.

"Let the task begin!"

Pyotr immediately hit Marcelle with a jinx. It was a hex that made her act in slow-motion, and it had been non-verbal, so she didn't know what it was or how to counter it. Taking advantage of this, Jane set her hair on fire.

_OH NO YOU DON'T! _Marcelle was furious. Jane obviously knew what she was doing, playing with Marcelle's emotions and destroying one of the things she found most precious. She sobbed inwardly. _My hair! My beautiful hair! _

When she broke free of the jinx, Pyotr and Jane were in heated competition. The crowd was loving it, cheering and shouting. Pyotr was powerful, but Jane had skill and brains and had an arsenal of spells she had learned at the ready. Quickly sizing up the situation, Marcelle decided to go on the defensive.

Lucky that she did, because as soon as she had cast a shield charm. Jane hit her with a non-verbal spell that left a trail of red sparks in its wake. The force of the spell dissolved her defence in time for Pyotr to hit her with a spell that made pain shoot through her arm. Looking down, Marcelle screamed as she saw her left-hand withering before her eyes.

There was an 'ooh' from the crowd as they revelled in Pyotr's skill and ruthlessness. Marcelle flew in to panic, casting spells left and right, missing her targets and trying to ignore the pain in her arm. Her weakness gave Jane and Pyotr a common enemy, and they ganged up against Marcelle.

Her arm felt like it had been dipped in acid and she could smell the charring tips of her hair. She could feel her heart pounding and blood pumping. Jane cast another curse and in an instant, Marcelle's vision went blood red.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" She screamed, mustering all her will, her force, her power, in to those two words. There was a flash of green light and the audience went silent.

"_Vigor Caput_!" Pyotr's deep voice cut through the air.

_What strange words, _Marcelle thought. _I've never heard that spell before. _She felt her heart rate slowing and her vision getting blurry. There was another flash.

_I wonder if I'll ever win._

It was her last thought.


	24. Chapter 24-The Winner

The entire stadium was silent. Pyotr and Jane's wands dropped to their sides as the stared, shocked at the crumpled body of Marcelle Alix.

"How… how?" Pyotr vaguely heard Jane mumbling. He was in shock. It had been his first instinct, to deflect the spell. He hadn't thought about the cost.

A single sob echoed through the hall. "My baby!" A woman cried. Jane rushed to Marcelle's side.

"Stop!" The shout jolted Pyotr out of his stupor. "Jane Haversham-Smythe! You may not assist the other champions in any way! Points will be deducted for this!" There was a gleam in Professor Aleksandrov's eye that made Pyotr want to curse him in to oblivion.

Jane reluctantly stood up, blinking to try and stop the tears from flowing. "How did you do that?"

"I invented the spell," Pyotr stuttered. "I've been working on a way to counter the curse for a long time,"

They fell back in to silence. Marcelle had been kind, and innocent, and sweet. Foolish, maybe, but she hadn't deserved this. Pyotr felt his eyes grow wet.

"Well? Are you not going to duel?"

"Silencio!" Jane shouted, tears spilling down her cheeks. "A champion has _died_! Do you have no compassion?"

Pyotr admired her bravery.

"Ahem," Madame Maxime's voice, still magically amplified, overpowered the sobbing still emitting from Marcelles mother. "It is standard procedure that the remaining champions continue to fight if one is disabled," There wasn't a shred of sympathy in her voice.

They cared nothing of Marcelle's death. Aleksandrov probably enjoyed watching the girl crumple before his eyes. The Headmasters enjoyed this, watching the champions kills each other off year after year. They enjoyed watching the tension, the hope as they fought for the money, only to pit them against each other in the final challenge.

"Pyotr," Jane said. He could hear the terror and sadness in her voice. "You need the money more than me,"

"No," He replied. "Your sister…" Jane shook her head.

"There are other ways to escape. You need to win," In an instant Pyotr understood.

"Are you sure?" He asked, concerned. She smiled, though he could tell she was scared.

"Yes, I'm sure,"

Pyotr took a deep breath and focused his energy. A flash of red shot from his wand and Jane fell.

Madame Maxime didn't miss a beat. "May I present the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, Pyotr Poliakoff of Durmstrang!"

There was total silence as Pyotr stood alone, surrounded by two unconscious bodies of innocent people. Nobody clapped or made a sound. A tear slid down Pyotr's cheek. He had gotten what he needed, but at what cost?


	25. Chapter 25- The End

When Jane woke up, she was feeling fine. But then a wave of memory crashed back in to her mind.

She was sitting in the Durmstrang infirmary, with her mother and father sitting next to her. "What… what happened?"

"You stupid, foolish child!" Her mother's voice sounded sweet, but her words were like ice. "You gave up the challenge to that silly boy and lost all of that money that we could have had! Do you have _any _idea how much one thousand galleons is?" Jane stiffened.

"Yes," she said, glaring at her mother. "Yes, mother, I do know how much one thousand galleons is, and that's why I entered in the Tournament! It was so when I won, I could keep the money and run away from you!"

To Jane's surprise, her mother was unfazed. "You think I didn't know that, child? Those businessmen that kept introducing themselves to you at the ball were my spies. Did you not recognize their faces? They all worked in the Manor at some point," Her mother just kept going, her voice getting breathier and girlier by the second.

"And may I say, out of all of the dresses I sent you off to school with, you chose to wear the on that I didn't permit you to take? There was a _reason _I told you not to bring that dress, Jane. It is ugly and boring. I almost wish that girl Marcelle was my daughter,"

Jane got up from the bed and faced her mother, fuming. "I _burned _those dresses, mother,"

She stormed out of the infirmary, pulling her shoes on along the way. _How, _Jane though, tears flowing. _Can she talk about Marcelle with such total indifference?_

Jane stormed in to the Entrance hall, passing the partly deconstructed arena and taking the small, spiraling staircase to the roof. When she finally made it through the trapdoor, she collapsed on to her knees, sobbing.

She couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Marcelle had been innocent, and sweet, and kind. She hadn't deserved this.

Jane started as she felt comforting arms wrap around her. Looking up, she saw it was Pyotr, and leaned in to him, returning the hug. They sat like that for what seemed like hours, crying, reveling in the same grief and loss. u

"How was you father?" Jane snuffled, when she had overcome the tears. Pyotr wiped his eyes and answered in an equally nasal voice.

"He said he was proud of me," He was trying to conceal it, but Jane could tell that inside, Pyotr was glowing with joy that his father had accepted him. It was a shame the feelings had to be countered by the grief of losing Marcelle.

Jane smiled sadly and buried her face in Pyotr's robes. "What are you going to do about your sister?"

"I'll overpower my parents using magic. They've always been stupid and unskilled. I'll steal some of their money and live in the muggle world for a while," The words flowed so easily now. The Tournament had awoken something inside her, a fiery determination which refused to back down.

Pyotr put his other arm around Jane and pulled her closer. Jane wished she could live in this moment for all of eternity. They didn't need any words, sharing the same pain, the same fear.

Jane didn't know what would happen to them, when this was all over, but she knew it had to be better than what had come before.


End file.
